Incident of the Mistaken Identity
by Ash10
Summary: Seems there are times when a man can't change the least little thing about his appearance without causing problems!


Twenty-three men signed on. I was hoping for twenty-four, but beggars can't be choosers. Lots of repeaters - Rowdy Yates, ramrod; G.W. Wishbone, cook; Mushy Mushgrove, cook's louse; Jim Quince, drover; Joe Scarlet, drover and Hey Soos Patinas, horse wrangler. With a core like that any trail boss would count himself blessed. I only wish that twenty-fifth man would've shown up and signed his name on the dotted line. The drive just won't be the same without Pete Nolan, scout. I'm Gil Favor, trail boss. Wish me luck. I think I'll need it!  
  
"Head 'em up; move 'em out!" With those familiar words, the drive was under way. Gil Favor seemed glad all the preliminary work was over and the cattle were actually moving along, plodding their way north, aimless wanderers except for the direction given by the drovers. Favor sighed in relief. Now if only Pete were here to give them all guidance; then Gil's relief would be complete.  
  
"Rider comin', Boss. Comin' up fast!" Quince rode up only long enough to bark out the warning before he turned his mount and took up his position at swing.  
  
Favor watched the incoming man. Neither horse nor rider was familiar, but at that distance Gil might not have recognized his own brother. His attention remained focused on the rider and although he couldn't tell the man's identity by his mount or by the clothing he wore, one thing about him was unmistakable - his riding style. Straight-backed but easy in the saddle, the lanky rider was as comfortable as only a lifetime spent on horseback could make him. He could only be the missing scout.  
  
"Pete Nolan!" Rowdy was first to greet the returning prodigal son. Riding out to meet him, waving his ever-more-battered-Stetson above his head, Yates' youthful face was wreathed in smiles. It seemed the boss was not the only one who missed Nolan's wry presence.  
  
Riding side by side, Rowdy and Pete reined in directly in front of Favor, Yates doubled over in the saddle, laughing so hard he could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. Pete looked rather annoyed. Gil Favor stared.  
  
There, on Nolan's upper lip sprouted the bushiest, reddest moustache Favor had ever seen. On the dark-haired, dark-eyed Pete, the heavy handle- bar looked ludicrous. As much as Gil tried to choke back a laugh, it exploded from him, deep and throaty. For a good minute neither he nor Rowdy could do more than wipe tears of glee back across increasingly damp sleeves. Hiccoughs followed as both really did try to control their mirth. Ultimately, it was the boss who succeeded and just in time. Pete looked about ready to either punch someone or turn his horse and ride back the way he'd come.  
  
"I'm glad you're so happy to see me, Boss." If there was sarcasm in Pete's voice, it was well deserved.  
  
"I am, Pete. Really, I am!" Favor gritted back the threatened relapse of the laughing fit. "I am glad to see you." Gil held out his hand. Reluctantly, Nolan shook it. "It's just. that mustache! You just don't look like you!" Favor swallowed back another threatened outburst.  
  
"Yeah and why is it so.so red?" Rowdy, too, had quit laughing, though his belly ached from holding back. "I mean.it's RED!"  
  
Pete Nolan sighed in a 'here we go again' manner. "My pa's hair was black and curly. Mother's hair was dark brown. When my sisters were born, well, every one of 'em had red hair - every shade from gold to carrot; tongues went waggin' over that I can tell you in the small town we came from. Well, what those folks didn't know was that when Pa's beard grew out it was bright copper - bright as a new penny. Mine's the same and there's nothin' I can do about it. Grew a mustache 'cause I felt like a change! Is there anything wrong with that?"  
  
"Now that you put it that way, why no.there's nothin' wrong with it. It's just.well.it's just we ain't used to it is all!" Favor rubbed a hand across his jaw, feeling the five o'clock shadow when it was still this side of mid-day.  
  
Rowdy leaned forward in the saddle, peering closely into Nolan's face. Pete pulled back, but couldn't escape the close scrutiny. "Now that I see it for what it is.it's a fine mustache.finest I seen in some time, Pete." Rowdy smiled, hoping to make up for his previous merry outburst. Besides, he wasn't lying. The mustache really was exceptional - actually in a class by itself as far as facial hair went.  
  
Nolan seemed unconvinced. "If I have to put up with every man in the outfit makin' fun a me, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to wanna sign back on. Might be I should leave 'fore I make a mistake." Unconsciously, Pete tugged at the corner of the impressive coppery brush.  
  
"If they do, it won't last long. See, me and Rowdy are already over the shock.uh, the surprise!" Gil followed Yates' example and smiled broadly - a bit too broadly, but Pete knew both men well enough to realize they meant no harm by their actions and when he said he'd stay on for the drive, the scout was nearly knocked from the saddle by their well-meant, if overly hearty back slaps.  
  
The boss was correct and although Pete was teased without mercy for the better part of the first day, after that no one bothered to poke fun. The newness wore off and Pete Nolan was back in his element with Gil Favor all the more relaxed because of it.  
  
Within days of Pete's return mustaches became all the rage. Nearly every drover sported one, although some were peach fuzz on the upper lips of barely adolescent boys and in the case of Rowdy Yates, a pale gold almost invisible shadow. After three weeks and little progress, Rowdy shaved it off. To his utter disgust, no one noticed it was gone.  
  
By far, Pete Nolan's was the showiest effort although Gil Favor's ran a close second. Dark, thick and wide, it grew to complete fruition in less than a week, eliciting much jealousy among those less fortunate, looking for all intents and purposes as if it had always been there, mature and settled. Gil took more pleasure than he thought possible in keeping it well groomed - trimming, brushing and preening.  
  
Naturally, Wishbone made innumerable cracks about more of his food getting lost in mustaches than being consumed, acting as soup strainers and of course, cookie dusters, but he was basically ignored. After all, wasn't he, along with Jim Quince, among the first to sport facial hair, albeit in Wishbone's case graying and somewhat raggedy?  
  
Nearly two months into the drive and mustaches were all but forgotten. Those which remained were taken for granted and those which were gone were well, just no longer there. Soon no one remembered what Pete looked like without his and probably would've thought him naked were he to shave. The same might be said of Gil Favor. Then something occurred which brought moustaches back into the limelight.  
  
Wishbone was in a huff and with good reason. "We're darn near outta coffee and this here trail drive travels on the stuff! What're you gonna do about it, Mr. Favor?"  
  
Gil didn't break stride as he passed the irate cook. "Gonna ride into town right now and buy some! Come on, Pete!"  
  
Nolan didn't need the invite repeated; it had been two months to the day since he'd set foot in a town and that only a wide spot in the road. Swinging easily into the saddle, he was ready and anxious before Favor had a chance to grab up his hat let alone the list Wishbone quickly scribbled onto a scrap of paper and pressed into his hand. "Since you're goin', might as well pick up a few more things we can't do without."  
  
Favor stuffed the paper into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Maybe we should take the supply wagon along," he reasoned, "in case there's more to this here list than two men can carry in their saddlebags." Winking at Pete, Gil waited for the cook's reply. He had a feeling it would be sarcastic. Surprisingly, it wasn't, well, wasn't overly.  
  
"Nah, just coffee, salt and tobacco for the boys is all. I think the two a you might just be able to carry that much!"  
  
Scout and trail boss put spurs to hide and were gone over the nearest rise before Wishbone remembered just one more thing he desperately needed, but too late. "You'd think that town was givin' away free whiskey the way those two took off," he complained.  
  
"Who's givin' away free whiskey, Mr. Wishbone?" Naturally Mushy wandered in on the tail end of Wish's rant and missed the drift. But then again, Mushy often missed 'the drift' even when he was there for the entire conversation.  
  
Town was only a few miles distant and the pair made fast time. Pete was thinking there might be time for a quick drink. Actually Gil had the same thought in mind, but figured it wouldn't be fair to the men back at camp who'd go dry while he washed the trail dust down with, if he was lucky and if he had gotten that drink, a decent shot of rye.  
  
"Pete, you can go on over to the saloon for a quick one while I take care of business here.if you're a mind." The two tied up in front of the mercantile and although Pete was tempted, no, more than tempted to go, in the end he felt the same way as the boss. If the others couldn't have a drink well then he'd pass. Both tall dusty cowboys stepped into Pfeiffer's Mercantile.  
  
After handing Wishbone's list to the grocer, Gil wandered around looking at all the goods lining the shelves and setting on counters while Pete helped himself to a handful of crackers from the barrel, munching contentedly away while also checking out the merchandise. So absorbed was he in the looking that he walked headlong into another customer.  
  
"I'm sorry, mister. Guess I aughta watch where I'm goin'." Pete grinned in what he believed was a most pleasant manner. The gesture was not reciprocated and the scout got the prickly feeling of impending trouble.  
  
"You're gonna be more than sorry when I'm through with you, Tex!" The customer looked Pete up and down, the scowl on his face certainly no disguise for his feelings. "Or is it Slim? Ain't all you drovers one or the other?"  
  
"Hey now, wait just a minute! I don't know you, mister and I said I was sorry for bumpin' into you and all, and my name's Nolan!" Pete was fast getting into the spirit of the encounter. The crackers were crumbs beneath his boots and both fists were clenched at his sides.  
  
At that point, Favor stepped between the stranger and his scout, but even his size did not intimidate the man who seemed bent on self- destruction. In size he was no match for either Pete or Favor, but was a portly middle-aged town-dweller who probably worked in a bank or at some other soft job since his hands were plump and white as a woman's. However, his voice was loud and booming, more than making up for size or vitality and his yelling soon drew a curious crowd.  
  
"Well, Tex," he sneered at Pete around Favor, "you been seein' MY WIFE behind my back for weeks now! I won't have it! I just won't have it!"  
  
Favor turned very slowly to gaze into the face of his scout. "And you did that how?" he asked knowing full well that Pete, like every other trail hand had not left the drive since the day it began.  
  
"Boss, you know that ain't true! I ain't left the herd at all - not even to go on a scout and you know it! I never been in this town before and I sure never seen this fella before neither.or his wife!" Pushing Favor out of the way Pete confronted his accuser. "Who told you such a bald-face lie, mister? Huh? Who? I wanna know sos I can deal with 'im myself!"  
  
Not to be cowed, the stranger pointed a finger directly into Pete's face, directly at his moustache. "I seen you myself! Runnin' away from the scene of the crime - so to speak. When you turned around to see if anybody was chasin' you down, I saw that damned red moustache! And besides, my wife confessed. Described you to a tee, she did - tall, slim and a Tex.i.can!" Drawing out the last word for added effect, he turned around to catch the eye of each person gathered within the small store, a smug look on his pasty face while supplying the coup de grace to the expectant onlookers who held their collective breaths waiting for the other shoe to fall - "She was most especially taken with your red hair!" Finished, he pivoted around to face Pete.  
  
To the surprise of the cuckold husband, the mustachioed Texan appeared totally non-plussed. In fact, his expression and body language showed him to be no longer angry but amused with the turn the proceedings had taken. Obviously Pete knew something the husband did not. This attitude enraged the husband to the point where his common sense followed his self- respect out the window. He threw a punch into the cowboy's unprotected belly.  
  
Pete doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, but not the steam. He came out of it with fists cocked, ready for action. In his opinion this case of mistaken identity, funny as it had become, was now over.  
  
On top of everything else, a sort of organized chaos threatened to erupt as the crowd got into the heat of the moment. Voices were raised and blows threatened.  
  
"Hold it now! This has gone too far! And look it here, mister! Pete's hair ain't red, just his mustache!" Gil grabbed off Pete's sweat-stained hat, exposing a head of dark brown, nearly black curly hair. "You said the fella your wife was.you said the fella was a red-head! And Pete ain't!"  
  
Favor's calm exposure of the facts as well as Pete's hair put a damper on the proceedings, but not before one last hand was played by an onlooker too far into the spirit of things to stop. A weighty can of peaches made the perfect projectile and the force of the throw by the excited spectator from his perch atop a step-ladder took Gil Favor down like he'd been whacked with an axe handle.  
  
Gil came to, reluctant to open his eyes. Even without doing so he knew he was in a bed, a real bed with a feather mattress and clean sheets smelling of outdoors and fresh air. His aching head rested on an honest to gosh pillow. Not wanting to open his eyes lest this heaven vanish, Gil refused until Pete's anxious coaxing and worried tone got the better of him.  
  
At first Gil thought his eyes were playing tricks. He blinked up at the scout who smiled in relief at seeing the boss awake at long last. Blinking and rubbing at his eyes, Favor squinted.  
  
"What's the matter, Boss? Your eyes hurt? You want me to call the doc back? He's probably right down the hall.won't take a minute!" Pete wiped the last of the shaving lather from his cheeks and chin off onto the towel draped over one shoulder.  
  
"No, Pete.I'm okay. Don't bother. It's just.." Favor blinked a couple more times trying to decide what the heck was so different about Nolan. For the life of him he couldn't figure it out.  
  
Pete drew up the chair recently vacated by the physician and unconsciously tugged at the corner of his mustache, a habit once made and difficult to break. He laughed as he felt the newly naked upper lip. "It's gonna take some gettin' use to." When Favor seemed stumped as to the reference, Pete finally understood the squinting, rubbing and blinking. "My mustache.I shaved the darned thing off! It's no wonder you didn't notice straight off what with six stitches in your scalp and a concussion."  
  
Gil reached up to touch the tender area, but Pete gently slapped the hand away. "Doc says we can leave tomorrow - if you're feelin' up to it. Till then guess we'll just have to take it easy." Pete inclined his head ever so slightly, indicating a second bed in the spacious room. "That husband.the one caused the ruckus and got you knocked out - he's payin' for this and room service, too. Guess he felt bad about what happened.that and the sheriff said if he didn't take care of your expenses the law would see him spending a week in jail for disturbing the peace!" Pete laughed heartily, but not for long; the ache in his belly put a temporary damper on the merriment. "For a soft city fella he throws a good punch!" Gingerly he rubbed the sore spot before continuing.  
  
"Mr. Favor, it took a case a mistaken identity to get me to shave off that darned thing. Never had such happen before and don't aim for it to happen again." Pete leaned in close, his attention focused on Gil's upper lip. "What'll it take for you to shave off yours?"  
  
"Shaving soap and a brush. and a mirror would help," Favor grinned, running a hand across the thick dark handlebar. "Can't say as I'll miss it much; took up too much time primping and grooming to be practical on a trail drive. I started spending so much time lookin' in mirrors I got to know how it must feel to be Rowdy!"  
  
When Pete laughed, it was with both arms wrapped around his belly.  
  
The time of the mustache was past.  
  
END 


End file.
